


S.O.S.

by sendoffire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, Formula One, Lance Stroll - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash, Random & Short, Randomness, Sergey Sirotkin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendoffire/pseuds/sendoffire
Summary: Lance gets lost in the Paddock yet again, however he has a very curious 'emergency contact' to help him out of his troubles.(Or me deciding that Sergey having initials S.O.S. should definitely be fic-ed.)





	S.O.S.

Lance half-grumped, half-whined helplessly, looking at the unknown faces around him.

Having no sense of direction, considering that he was a Formula 1 driver, was somewhat of a bizarre trait, but Lance couldn’t do anything about it!

 

Actually, it wasn’t that bad: he could tell right from left and find his way around the city streets (although knowing that GPS was nearby always helped). Every other weekend, however, twenty-one time a year he found himself in a place that just refused to accept him and his navigational difficulties, creating a personal type of hell for the young Canadian.

Yes, that’s right – Lance Stroll has found himself lost in the Paddock, yet again.

 

He was trying to find the conference room as he was due for some media commitments, however instead he’s now spent almost fifteen minutes walking in circles in the area behind motorhomes, having already forgotten where he came from in the first place. 

Realising that there was no chance he can get out of this on his own, Lance finally gave up on trying to find his way through the crowd, instead deciding to call for help.

 

Getting his phone out of his shorts’ pocket, the Canadian quickly found the needed number, filed under the curious name of “S.O.S”. Pressing the button, Lance brings the phone to his ear and concentrates on monotone ringing noses in an attempt to calm himself down.

When the person on the other side picks up and the line goes live, Lance lets out a breath of relief and smiles slightly, hearing the familiar voice in his ear.

 

“Hi, it’s me. I’m ki-i-inda lost again,” he informs his interlocutor with the same sheepish smile playing on his lips. The other person sighed deeply, making Lance smile even wider.

“Where?” Is all that comes from the other side.

“Erm… Paddock area-ish?” tries Lance but knows that it was not at all helpful. “I-I think I’m near the Renault motorhome, can see a lot of yellow ahead.”

 

The voice hums in response and the line disconnects, but Lance knows that his ~~knight in shining armor~~ savior was on his way.

 

***

 

When his phone goes off with the ringtone version of ABBA’s “S.O.S.” Sergey already knows who is calling and with what reason. After all, he did not assign this specific song for Lance’s contact for nothing. So, taking a deep breath, the Russian driver gets his phone out and – sure enough – the icon with Lance’s smiley face on it lights up his screen.

 

“Да?” answers the call Sergey, not caring that he’s doing it in his native language – everyone around were used to it by now anyway.

Lance’s voice is nervous, but the Williams driver can sense his smile even through the metal frame of his iPhone, and that, inevitably, forces Sergey to smile too.

He was used to these random calls from his younger teammate. When he found out that the Canadian had the habit of getting lost around the Paddock, Sergey proposed without any second thoughts that whenever that happened, Lance could call him, and he’d come and find the stranded driver.

What he could not foresee, however, was Lance finding his initials quite amusingly fitting to their ‘agreement’ and persuading the Russian to join in on the joke by setting a personal ringtone for his teammate. Not that he minded, of course, he liked that now two of them shared a weird, but special, in its own way, bond.

 

Finally getting some reference points from Lance out his potential location, Sergey ended the call and embarked on the journey to find the poor Canadian and rescue him.

He succeeded some five minutes later, indeed finding Lance behind the Renault hospitality.

 

“We should really draw you a personalized map of every single Paddock,” chuckled Sergey, coming up behind the younger driver. Lance squeaked in surprise and turned around, meeting the Russian’s blue eyes that sparkled with humor.

“Or just put a tracker on me,” laughed Lance in return, smiling widely. “I’m surprised Claire hasn’t thought of that by now!”

Both drivers chuckled, starting to walk in the direction of conference rooms. Once there, Lance turned to Sergey with a shy smile and a strong blush on his cheeks.

 

“Thank you for rescuing me, _again_. I know you don’t need to do this, and you probably wouldn’t, if we weren’t on a same team, and I realise how inconvenient I must be…”

Lance continued his mumbling until Sergey interrupted him with a warm chuckle.

"It’s no problem at all, I enjoy doing this, really. Besides, who else would put up with your endless ability to lose your way?”

 

Lance let out a light laugh, however his cheeks became even more red, now flaring up like two sparks on his face.

 “I-I must go now, thanks again so much for doing this.”

 

He almost turned away to head into the media building when Sergey’s voice called him again.

 

“Shall I wait for you here, to avoid you getting lost any further?” asked the Russian with a cheeky smile, winking at his teammate. Lance blushed, but smirked in response, showing off his pearly whites.

“Are you asking to walk me back to the Williams hospitality?”

“Maybe?” Sergey asked in return, eyeing the brunette.

Lance smiled. “I’d like that.”

Seeing the beaming grin that got plastered on Sergey’s face as soon as he said that made the Canadian’s heart do a giant flip in his chest.

“See you in around twenty minutes then, here,” said the Russian, waving at him and moving to seat on a nearby bench with his phone in his hand.

Lance eyed him for about five more seconds, and finally turned to rush into the media building where he was immediately swooped away by the reporters, trying very hard to not grin like a madman.

 

Maybe him always getting was not such a bad thing anyway. After all, he had his own personal S.O.S. signal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcomed and appreciated :)
> 
> You can reach me on instagram (@sendoffire) or twitter (@a_her_o).


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